


Obsessions

by Rebecca



Series: Truth or Dare/Obsessions [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Banter, Case Fic, First Time, M/M, Undercover As Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-30
Updated: 2009-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebecca/pseuds/Rebecca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Truth or Dare'. What a better way to continue a cliché fic than with a cliché fic? *g* This time, I settled for the "Undercover as a gay couple" theme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to duckface666 for Beta-reading and merrie_oriensis for final Britpicking.! All remaing errors are mine. Also, this is the longest fic I've ever written, yay!

_(In which Lewis faces some unpleasant after-effects of a tiddly evening and Innocent has an assignment for our favourite coppers.)_

Lewis tried his best to stifle a yawn when he opened the door to his governor's office. This was supposed to be his free Sunday, and as far as he was concerned, he could have done with a couple more hours of sleep. But then he had been a copper long enough to know that he could even deem himself lucky that whatever it was that needed his presence had the mercy not to throw him out of bed in the middle of the night.

"Good morning, Inspector.", greeted Chief Superintendent Innocent. "I'm sorry to disturb your weekend, but I have had an ad hoc request for personal security. Do you know Dean Hawkins?"

Recalling that he had heard of a folk musician of that name, Lewis nodded, albeit reluctantly. He had an uneasy sense of where this was going, in fact he already had had when he was woken by a telephone call to be ordered to Innocent's office instead of to a crime scene.

"Dean Hawkins will be staying at the Randolph for three days where he will celebrate his birthday. He has got a handful of threatening letters in the past, which he did not consider to be taken seriously until last night's incident. It could have been an attack on his person, in fact..."

Although Lewis tried his best to listen intently, he felt his attention drift away. It was not entirely his fault, he told himself, since today Innocent's voice sounded unusually monotonous and low. Maybe she was just as tired and hung-over from last night as he was, Lewis thought with just a little bit of gratification.

Last night—maybe he would have done better to lock that memory safely away. God knows he had tried, the whole night when he kept tossing around in his bed despite being knackered. The whole morning, too, but there was only so much he could do when a constant headache kept reminding him that he had had too much alcohol last night. Which wasn't itself a problem, but what had arisen out of it was.

What must Innocent be thinking of him? He shifted uneasily from one foot to another. Snogging your junior partner in front of your boss was not the wisest of ideas, no matter how much alcohol was involved. Well, technically being snogged, but since he had kissed back all too eagerly that didn't make much of a difference.

"Investigations have started immediately, but the involved colleagues think that additional protection might be necessary.", Innocent was saying now, and Lewis ruefully tried to focus on her words.

"Furthermore, they think it might help with the investigations if you were going undercover. I've assembled a file with all the necessary data for you and Sergeant Hathaway..."

Hathaway. Really, he shouldn't be thinking of him like _that_. There were plenty of reasons not to. He didn't fancy men, for one. Maybe Hathaway did, he still didn't know for sure, but he himself had always gone for the girls. So whatever it was that he was feeling, it was probably due to sleep deprivation and remainders of alcohol in his blood system. Nothing that couldn't be fixed with a day's rest—which he obviously wasn't going to get any time soon.

"Given the fact that I could only manage to get one free room at the Randolph for you, and taking into account that Dean Hawkins is quite an item in the gay scene, I want you to go as a couple that is friendly with Mr. Hawkins."

Suddenly, Lewis had no problems focusing at all.

"I beg your pardon, Ma'am?"

"You've heard me, Inspector," she said, making it clear enough that she wouldn't change her plan. But then a smile sneaked onto her face, which Lewis didn't like any better, and she added:

"I have no doubt that the two of you will have no problems portraying credibility."

Lewis moaned inwardly. He wasn't exactly in a good position to object to that.

"Don't you think I'm a little old for Hathaway?" He asked nonetheless, and it wasn't only to argue against the assignment, somehow that question had occurred to him earlier for no good reason.

"Well, _I_ think you are in very good shape, Lewis," Innocent said mildly. "So does Hathaway, obviously."

Lewis felt himself blushing, and he was left wondering just how much she had witnessed during that stupid kissing thing, or Hobson, for that matter. If he hadn't already been regretting what had happened, now would be an excellent moment to start.

"If that would be all, Ma'am?" He managed.

Innocent nodded, and Lewis started towards the door with relief.

"Oh, and Lewis", she called after him. "Would you contact Hathaway and brief him? I've tried to phone him all morning, but he is not answering the phone."

How very smart of Hathaway, Lewis thought, before he fled Innocent's office with a "Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

How he was going to break the news to Hathaway, though, he wasn't sure. He already felt self-conscious about phoning him, let alone talking to him about the pretending-to-be-a-gay-couple matter. Of course he was going to ignore the events of the night before, because really, what was there to say about silly drinking games getting out of control other than awkward explanations and excuses? But then, he had already proven how well he was able to avoid the topic... So it came that he sat at his desk fidgeting with his mobile, hovering with his finger over the call button, and rolling words and phrases around in his head.

Finally, he mentally kicked himself for being silly. He was a grown-up man, not a teenager anymore, so he should be able to get this over and done with, shouldn't he? He pressed the call button and listened to the soothing sound of the dial tone.

"Hathaway." The sleepy voice of his Sergeant was greeting him after long seconds.

"It's Lewis."

"Sir?"

"Innocent wants you to come over to the station."

"I'm on my way." Hathaway answered, and Lewis could hear the rustling of sheets through the phone.

"No need to hurry. There are no dead bodies."

Although he preferred dead bodies any time, he thought grudgingly.

"Does that mean I have time to grab something to eat before I go?"

"Pretty much that, yes."

Well, that went surprisingly well, Lewis congratulated himself when he put his mobile down. At least if you ignored that funny feeling he had got when he heard Hathaway's sleepy voice. He couldn't remember ever having him witnessed sleepily before.

* * *

Armed with a cup of coffee and an Aspirin, he opened the folder Innocent had given him. He could even concentrate. On top lay a pile of hastily scribbled down notes, a brief summary of what investigations had yielded so far. It wasn't much. Dean Hawkins had nearly been run over by a motorcycle with reasonable suspicion that it had been a deliberate attempt on his life, and neither the motorbike nor the driver had been identified so far. Underneath were copies of the letters and emails Dean Hawkins had received, most of them, though hateful or fanatic, not to be taken seriously. One, for example, referred to Hawkins' performance at a Gay Pride event where he seemingly had hugged and kissed some of the mostly male gay audience and where had dedicated a love song to one of his male fans. The writer complained very vividly and verbosely about how Dean could do that to his wife and children, to the female fans who were in love with him, to the heterosexual male fans who saw him as a role model, and to practically everybody else. With some of the letters, though, Lewis was not so sure how to take them.

A report on a housebreaking a good week ago raised Lewis' suspicion. Hawkins had reported that during his absence, someone had broken into the bedroom of his house and had rummaged through his wardrobe and personal stuff, making a big mess of the room, the closets and the bed. There hadn't been anything of value removed; however, Hawkins claimed that he was missing some items of clothing that he had worn for public performances. The police didn't have a clue on this case, either.

Furthermore, Lewis found guest lists of Hawkins' planned birthday party and other social activities he was going to attend while in Oxford, as well as a list of all hotel guests for the next couple of days. At the bottom of the file lay a CV of Hawkins, but Lewis found that Wikipedia could give him much more comprehensive information. He was somewhat mollified that the subject seemed to be much more likeable than the last person he had had to bodyguard, and that Hawkins, as opposed to Nicky Turnbull, actually had a reason to request protection. That his headache was gone for the moment might have played a role in his improved mood as well.

He was so engrossed in his research that he didn't notice Laura Hobson standing in his doorway until she cleared her throat to announce her presence.

"Morning, Doctor." He greeted her, looking up. "No free weekend either?"

She shook her head, causing her blond strands to bounce around her head.

"Car accident." She said.

"Ah."

"So..." She said, stretching the syllable. "How was your evening?"

"You know quite well how my evening was." Lewis was slightly irritated. "I went home shortly after you left and straight to bed."

"Alone?"

He wondered if she was implying what he thought she was, or if he was just getting paranoid. Probably the latter.

"Of course alone."

"Well, judging by the performance you gave last night, I'd say you either fancy your Sergeant, which, by the way, I would completely understand..."

Lewis felt the urgent need to bang his head against something hard.

"... or you are a _very_ desperate man."

"Serves me right." Lewis muttered and wished he wasn't blushing. He could already see how people would tease him with this one moment of inanity for the rest of his professional life. At least, the rest of his professional life wasn't going to be that long. Hobson on the other hand, despite being known for her sharp tongue, didn't look mischievous at all—she just beamed at him expectantly.

"What?" He snapped.

She just shook her head slightly and left his office, leaving him feeling even more like a fool than when she had made that joke, although he didn't really know why.

* * *

Lewis had just started to search for pictures to go with the guest lists when Hathaway appeared with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Morning, Sir," he said and slumped into his chair. "What's up?"

Lewis threw the file over to his desk and informed him about their latest assignment. When he had told him anything he knew and it was not possible to postpone a certain detail any longer, he took a deep breath and said:

"There's one hitch, though."

"What, is he another professional Geordie?"

Lewis shook his head exasperatedly, but still couldn't help being surprised that Hathaway remembered the words he used to describe Nicky Turnbull a couple of years ago.

"No. It's... we are to go undercover. As a couple."

"A couple." Hathaway echoed, trying his best to stifle an outburst of laughter, but failing miserably.

"It's not a joke." Grumbled Lewis. He had to admit though that Hathaway's suppressed giggles were quite exhilarating.

"I'm sorry, Sir." Hathaway gasped for air. "It's just that I find it funny, don't you?"

"Not at all," he said emphatically. As an afterthought, he added: "Ridiculous, maybe. I mean, seriously... I told Innocent that I'm too old for you."

It was amazing to see how fast Hathaway's silly grin vanished and how fast he got totally serious.

"I didn't mean to imply..."

Lewis impatiently gestured at him to be quiet. He didn't really want to know what or what not Hathaway was implying, or why he was suddenly getting so serious.

"Innocent would have none of it, anyway. She already made up her mind. She thinks we..."

Lewis bit his tongue, but it was too late. The unspoken reference to last night hovered between them and cast an awkward silence. Hathaway gazed at him with a strange mixture of amusement and... what, longing? Don't get ridiculous, Lewis told himself and quickly averted his eyes. No, he was _not_ going to think of what that look was promising because he did not trust his treacherous body one inch.

"What do _you_ think?" Hathaway asked.

"Doesn't really matter, does it? As I said, Innocent has made up her mind."

Hathaway looked as if he was going to say something else, but then opened the file Lewis had thrown at him and delved into it.

* * *

Lewis yawned and rubbed his face.

"Let's call it a day, shall we?" He sighed. "I don't think that I can get any more stuff into me head today."

He grabbed his mug and scowled as he detected that the remainder of his coffee had long gone cold.

Hathaway beside him nodded. "Fine with me, Sir."

"Drop the Sir, Jim, will ya? Doesn't go very well with the couple thing..."

"Why? Doesn't it turn you on?" Smugly, he added, "Sir?"

"Come off it, man!" Lewis said and hoped it sounded as if he meant it. Hathaway didn't need to know how close to the truth he had got there. Or that he actually found that remark sort of funny, as much as you could find something funny when you were thinking... Ah well, time to change the topic.

"So, I think now I know most of the facts of Dean Hawkins' life, and many of his guests..." He nodded towards the computer screen where they had spent the last hour or so studying guest lists and photographs. "But I'll have to hope that no-one expects us to quote his lyrics or sing along with his songs, because I have no idea what his music is like. Except that it's supposed to be some sort of folk music."

"That can be helped," Hathaway said and commandeered Lewis' keyboard and mouse. "I can download his songs..."

"Isn't that illegal?" Lewis asked doubtfully while he watched Hathaway plugging his iPod in one of the computer's ports.

"Most artists put some of their songs online for free. As a sort of advertising so that people who like them buy the complete album."

"Ah. And the rest?"

Hathaway turned around to look at him. "Do you really want to know?"

"S'ppose not," Lewis admitted. "We are doing this to help him, after all..."

* * *

They ended up spending the evening in a small little restaurant over a pizza and a pint. When they had finished their plates, Hathaway produced his iPod from his pockets and held out one of the tiny ear-phones for Lewis to take.

"You wanted to know what Dean Hawkins' music is like?"

Hathaway must have noticed reluctance showing on Lewis' face, because he added: "It isn't so bad, actually, if you are not adverse to plain a-man-and-his-guitar folk."

"You know him?"

"He is quite a virtuoso guitar player," Hathaway shrugged. "Used to study classical guitar before he quit in favour for starting a career in folk music. He's no second Bob Dylan, that's for sure, but agreeable nonetheless."

Lewis started to feel intrigued. After all these years, Hathaway still made an enigma of his private life and feelings, so he wouldn't want to miss a chance listening to something Hathaway found 'agreeable'.

"He is a highly praised candidate for representing the UK in the Eurovision Song Contest this year," Hathaway continued.

Lewis raised his eyebrows. "Didn't figure you as a Eurovision fan."

"I'm not. But you can hardly ignore it if you catch up with contemporary media."

"Well then," Lewis said. "I'm not sure I can appreciate a virtuoso guitar player as much as you can, though."

He grabbed the ear-phone Hathaway was still holding and put it into his ear. Hathaway smiled one of his half-suppressed smiles and started the iPod with a few presses of his thumb.

Hathaway was right, Dean Hawkins' music was agreeable, no more, no less. There were some songs with quite predictable, catchy tunes, others were more carefully arranged. Overall, Lewis could picture himself listening to this music if he needed something easy, soothing and not too distracting, but it would hardly become one of his all-time favourites.

After they had been listening intently to one half of Dean Hawkins' latest album, their chairs moved together due to the short head-phone cord, Lewis noted:

"I don't want to keep you. After all, we will be seeing a lot of each other for the next three days, so if there's something else you'd rather do..."

"There's nothing I would want more than seeing more of you." Hathaway answered, face deadpan.

Lewis was already turning his attention back to the music when the double meaning of Hathaway's words sank in.

"Are you _flirting_ with me, Hathaway?" Lewis asked, not sure how he was going to react if Hathaway affirmed. His body bloody well knew, though...

"We are supposed to be a couple, remember?"

"Starting _tomorrow_."

"Then it's about time that we got past the flirting and exchanging phone number part, don't you think?"

Hathaway could consider himself lucky that Lewis was a decent man, because Lewis seriously pondered on slapping him on the back of his head. Hard. Or kissing him, which was even less an option. As it were, he just scowled and tried to focus on the music. With Hathaway being all cocky and enjoying the whole case much more than he should, Lewis didn't know how he was supposed to live through the next days. Maybe if he signed in ill...? But then, the thought of having someone else stand in and taking his place at Hathaway's side didn't have much appeal either, for some reason he didn't want to consider too deeply.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I excuse in advance for being silly, but after a discussion at LJ the purple socks wouldn't go out of my head...

_(In which Hathaway enjoys his job and Lewis doesn't, and the plot thickens.)_

The next morning they assembled in Innocent's office for a last briefing before they were going to move into the Randolph. Innocent informed them about the latest news regarding the Hawkins case and handed them a list stating which of the guests to Hawkins' party were already interviewed, were suspicious or alibied.

"Your colleagues are checking the hotel's security and instructing the staff at the moment, they will report back to you. So you," she nodded towards Lewis and Hathaway standing in front of her desk, "can concentrate entirely on the undercover mission."

She pulled out another piece of paper from one of the files on her desk.

"You will be known as Robbie Thompson and Jim Kingsley. I didn't change your first names so it will be easier for you to play your role, but there will be no Lewis, no Hathaway; no Sergeant, Inspector nor Sir."

"That's a pity," Hathaway mumbled, "we just agreed that Sir would make such a fine nickname."

Innocent looked at him questioningly.

Lewis said: "Seems like our Sergeant here has a kink for titles, Ma'am."

She bestowed them with one of those annoyed looks she seemed to reserve especially for Lewis and Hathaway then said: "Well, anyway, what the two of you do in your bedroom is none of my business, as long as it doesn't interfere with your work."

When Lewis closed the door to Innocent's office, he said: "I can't believe that she just said that."

"Me neither," answered Hathaway.

A mischievous smile appeared on his lips, and Lewis hastened to say: "Whatever it is, don't even start."

* * *

Their room at the Randolph was bigger than any hotel room Lewis had ever lived in. Considering that this was the Randolph, it was most probably one of the smaller rooms. At least did the size of the double bed match the size of the room, a fact which Lewis noted with relief. Hathaway flopped down on the bed and tested the mattress by bouncing up and down on it.

"Which side do you prefer?" He asked.

"Left side, if you don't mind."

"I don't," shrugged Hathaway.

"Sounds as if you have never lived in a long-term relationship." Lewis remarked.

"It does, doesn't it?"

Lewis shook his head at this typical Hathaway-ish evasion and opened his suitcase to hang his shirts. Not that it would matter much, somehow he always managed to look a bit rumpled, and the clothes he owned weren't appropriate for a stay at the Randolph either way. But still, Val would have disapproved if he had left all his clothes stuffed in his suitcase, and additionally it gave him something to do.

Hathaway pulled his lanky body up from the bed and started unpacking as well.

"What's with all those purple socks?" Lewis asked, peeking curiously into Hathaway's suitcase.

"They are to match my purple pants." Hathaway said nonchalantly.

Lewis stared open-mouthed while the picture of Hathaway in nothing but purple pants crept unbidden into his mind. He wasn't sure if that was a positive image.

"Purple pants," he echoed. Then he realised the mischievous glint in Hathaway's eyes, and he was able to think again.

"You are having me on, aren't you?"

Hathaway shrugged. "But while we are at checking each other's luggage—what's _that_," he nodded at Lewis' luggage, "doing in your suitcase?"

He leaned over and poked a finger into Lewis' clothes. As he removed his hand, a pair of handcuffs was dangling from his forefinger.

"I hope you have a good explanation for having these with you. Being a policeman doesn't count this time."

Hathaway examined the handcuffs thoughtfully, and Lewis was waiting for the obvious joke to come. In fact, he was glowering at Hathaway, willing him to stay quiet. Surprisingly, it worked. Hathaway let the handcuffs drop back into the suitcase and just looked at him with a not quite innocent what-are-you-staring-at-me expression. More surprisingly, Lewis felt a bit disappointed. He wondered when he had started to become masochistic.

After he had finished unpacking, Lewis asked: "Very well then, fancy a visit to the hotel bar?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

"We will be able to observe the lobby from there," Lewis said, feeling the need to point out that his purpose was purely professional. "When was it again that Dean Hawkins will be arriving?"

Hathaway glanced at his watch. "He is supposed to be here in about an hour."

"Fine, so we will be able to eat something before then. I'm starving."

"Yeah." Hathaway agreed and started towards the door. With his hand already on the handle, he turned around and asked: "Do you have the key, _darling_?"

"Shut up." Lewis scowled.

* * *

They found a table from which they could see the lobby and the reception, which wasn't hard since there weren't many guests around. Still, Lewis couldn't help feeling out of place. Of course, he had been at the Randolph before, but it had always been as a policeman. Now, however, he was supposed to blend in as a guest, and without his badge, his title and his tie, he couldn't ignore the fact that he would normally not seek a place as posh as this for recreation.

Hathaway, on the other hand, seemed to fit in quite well, and for the first time Lewis was sort of glad Hathaway was here as his significant other and not as his Sergeant, as it gave him a good excuse to let him do all the talking if things were getting too intellectual.

While they ate lunch and waited for Dean Hawkins to arrive, they kept track of the guests and staff members passing by. It soon evolved into a little game being the first to come up with a name going with a particular face. Between the two of them, they remembered nearly every person from their research the day before, and with the rest Hathaway's little prodigy of engineering called a BlackBerry helped.

* * *

Meeting Dean Hawkins was actually a relief. He wore blue jeans and a T-shirt, and although those clothes were more stylish than everything Lewis owned, they made him feel at ease with the other man. A pair of boots which Lynn had told him were the latest fashion and an Indian style bead necklace completed his attire. That together with wild blond curls really made it easy to imagine him sitting with nothing but his guitar at a lonesome train station, as he had sung about in one of his songs. His handshake was warm and assuring, and he asked:

"Inspector?"

"It's Robbie these days, Robbie Thompson. And this is Jim Kingsley." Lewis nodded towards Hathaway.

Hawkins shook his hand as well.

"I'm Dean. Your governor already informed me that you are here on an undercover mission. You are supposed to be old friends of mine?"

"Yes. The less people now about us, the better."

"My wife knows, naturally, but other than her I've told nobody."

"Very good." Hathaway said.

"So just to make sure I get this right... you two are supposed to be a couple?"

Lewis nodded with what he hoped was a neutral expression.

"Didn't know the police were so flexible." Dean smiled.

Next to Lewis, Hathaway was doing his best to hide an outburst of laughter with a cough. Lewis didn't get what was so extraordinarily funny about this remark, neither did Hawkins, if the irritated look he cast in Hathaway's direction was anything to go by. Still, he must have noticed that this topic was not sitting well with Lewis, as he added: "I didn't mean to be rude. I am really grateful for your help."

Lewis bloody well hoped so.

He and Hathaway joined Hawkins and his wife having lunch in a near-by restaurant, though they restrained themselves to a cup of coffee each. It was a good opportunity to get familiar with each other and to instruct Hawkins about their plans. His wife, Anne, was a small, cheerful person. Her long black hair was even curlier than his and was gathered in a loose ponytail in her neck.

"So what are your plans for your stay in Oxford?" Asked Lewis.

"Tonight will be the birthday reception. Tomorrow afternoon will be the official release of my new album, with my label, press and some celebrities my manager thinks I should know."

"Yes, we've seen the guest lists." Hathaway remarked.

"I'd like to see something of Oxford, too, while we are here" Anne Hawkins added. "But we haven't planned anything yet. I'm not sure how much time we will actually have for those sorts of things."

Lewis smiled sympathetically. "In any case, tell us when you leave your room. And call us if someone's at your door."

* * *

The reception was much less formal than Lewis had feared due to the location, and it was quite a frolic, too. Overall, it was not the worst of the events Lewis had to attend to for his job or for Mr Innocent being indisposed. Actually, compared to listening to chamber music with Innocent's chatty lady friends or trying not to fall asleep while listening to a reading of a fantasy book by the author himself, one could nearly say that Lewis was enjoying himself.

It was a challenge to constantly keep an eye on Dean Hawkins, since the room was very crowded and people were constantly moving around; and they simply couldn't just be on Hawkins' heels the whole time. On top of that, they had a cover to maintain, which Hathaway apparently found much more amusing than Lewis.

On one of the few occasions when they were standing with the Hawkins', Lewis said: "You don't really seem to fit with this..." He nodded at the surroundings. "If you don't mind me say so..."

Hawkins laughed heartily. "This was my wife's idea."

"It _is_ your 40th, after all," she said. "If you had your way, you'd still be celebrating in the cellar, wouldn't you. Beside, being married to a popular musician, I want to have a bit of luxury _sometimes_."

"Well, there goes the illusion of being loved for one's inner values." Hawkins joked and gave his wife a quick but tender one-armed hug.

Hathaway mumbled: "I know the feeling."

Lewis threw him a questioning look.

"Well," Hathaway explained, "I never know whether you love me or whether you are just after my good looks."

Lewis was sure that this was one of the times were Hathaway would have added one of his saucy 'Sir's, had he been allowed to. He opened his mouth for a retort, but Hathaway was smart enough to make his exit just then, leaving Lewis brooding.

The lad may not have noticed, but Hathaway had hit the mark. Even if it might be possible that after more than half a lifetime and a happy marriage, Lewis had somehow become interested in men, and even if somehow it might be that it was Hathaway he was interested in, there was absolutely no point in wasting any more thoughts in that direction. Hathaway was his workmate, even worse, his subordinate. He was too young. End of discussion.

* * *

Lewis politely refused when an obliging waitress offered him another drink. He had just learned the hard way what too much alcohol could do to him if Hathaway was around. Besides, he was on duty. Instead, he helped himself to a second cup of mousse au chocolat from the rich buffet. Speaking of Hathaway, Lewis noticed that he hadn't seen him for quite a while. He scanned the room, and it was a good thing that Hathaway was such a tall man, as Lewis had no problems spotting him in the crowd.

He was standing with a young woman, probably around his age, and she was currently laughing at something Hathaway had said. The way she was looking at him showed clearly that she was interested in him. It was an odd sight, Lewis couldn't remember ever having witnessed that Hathaway had flirted with someone, or even had shown that sort of interest in someone—or that someone had been interested in him. Funny thing if you thought about it; in Lewis' eyes, Hathaway was a good catch. Dishy, Dr Hobson had put it once.

Curious, he walked over and joined the pair, silently munching his dessert while listening to their conversation.

"So, what are you doing?" the girl was asking over the rim of her champagne glass.

"I've studied theology," answered Hathaway.

"Theology?"

Maybe there was the answer to why Hathaway never got to flirt, theology might not exactly be a turn-on if the look on the face of the girl was anything to go by. She didn't give up, though.

"What do you do with theology?" She asked.

"Nothing," Hathaway smiled. "That's why I've also studied law."

"Cool. Having your own office?"

Law, on the other hand, _did_ seem to be a turn-on.

"No, but taking over from my father soon."

"Where is it?" She asked, moving in a little closer.

At this point Lewis felt he should intervene. Of course, it had all to do with them being on duty and saving Hathaway from having to come up with details of his camouflage, and nothing with Lewis not liking someone to be so close to Hathaway. Well, he _might_ be a bit mischievous, too, spotting a chance to pay back for how Hathaway had been teasing him the last couple of days.

He stepped closer and put a hand on Hathaway's shoulder.

"That's all very nice, but he promised me not to work while we're staying here. Nor talk about work."

"Yeah." Hathaway mumbled and managed to look rueful. Lewis smiled at him and offered him his half-empty cup of dessert. "You should try the mousse au chocolat. It's fantastic."

"Really?" Asked Hathaway and took the spoon.

The woman looked back and forth between them, then said: "That's a pity, then."

When she walked away, Lewis felt almost bad. But only almost.

"Thank you," Hathaway muttered around a spoonful of mousse au chocolat. "I didn't plan the life of my alter ego in that much detail."

Lewis remembered to remove his hand from where it was comfortably resting on Hathaway's shoulder.

"I thought as much," he said.

"Good performance." Hathaway smiled. "Though I can't help thinking you were a bit jealous."

Trust Hathaway to make a compliment just to ruin it with something mean. Although, there was something about 'truth' and 'mean' that didn't exactly fit, but Lewis prudently ignored thinking about it.

"Fine," he said. "I can call her back and say I've changed my mind, if you prefer that."

"Not at all."

"Then watch your mouth."

* * *

It was a couple of canapés and non-alcoholic drinks later when something caught Lewis' attention.

"Do you see that man over there?" He asked, leaning towards Hathaway.

Hathaway nodded.

"Is it just me or didn't he show up on any of the photos?"

"No, you are right, I can't remember having seen him before." Hathaway said.

"Probably not a guest. Staff? But he isn't dressed appropriately."

The man they were talking about stood in a remote corner and watched the party intensely, and if Lewis wasn't mistaken, it was Hawkins he was observing. He was dressed too casually for visiting a reception like this, and he didn't wear the clothes of the hotel's employees either.

"He's been standing there for quite a while now." Lewis remarked. "I'll go and check with the staff whether they know him."

He walked over to the reception and had the luck catching someone who knew that he was a policeman in disguise.

"That man there," Lewis nodded back over his shoulder. "Is he staff or a guest of the Randolph?"

The woman behind the counter shook her head. "Definitely not staff, I would know him. And I'm quite sure he isn't a guest of ours either. If he isn't with Mr Hawkins..."

"I don't think so."

"... then I'll ask him to leave."

"You do that." Lewis said. "Can you try to get his name, while you are at it? Oh, and could you wait a few minutes, please?"

"Of course, Mr. Thompson."

Lewis blinked at the sound of the still unfamiliar name, then nodded. "Thank you."

Hathaway was still standing where he had left him, discreetly having an eye on the unknown man. He was doing his job very well, Lewis thought.

"Jim, can you take a photo of him with your phone?"

"Sure. Can you stand over there?"

"What? Why?"

Hathaway explained: "So that it looks like I'm taking a picture of you."

Lewis rolled his eyes.

"Do you really think that's necessary?" He said, but was already complying to Hathaway's instructions.

They watched silently as the receptionist talked to the guy. He jumped when she approached him, and during their short conversation, he looked genuinely uncomfortable. Then he left hastily, while the employee walked over to Lewis and Hathaway.

"He said his name is Milton Smith," she said to Lewis. "Is there anything you want me to do should he return?"

"What's your normal procedure?" Hathaway asked.

"Call the police."

"Good, that's exactly what we would do." Lewis winked.

The woman smiled at him and returned to the reception.

"Smith." Hathaway said. "Great."

"Probably not his real name. If he really is our man, he wouldn't be so stupid as to tell anyone who he really is. But anyway, send it to the colleagues together with that photo, maybe they'll find something."

* * *

The reception ended without any further suspicious events, and when Hawkins finally retreated to his room, Lewis and Hathaway followed his example. Lewis had felt more and more tired towards the end, so he was glad he could get some rest at last.

When he unlocked the door to their room, however, he realised that he would be alone with Hathaway for the whole night, and above that, sharing _a bed_ with him. For some reason, that made him nervous.

With a heartfelt sigh, he surrendered to his fate and entered. Hathaway immediately disappeared into the bathroom, while Lewis searched for his pyjamas and started to get rid of his shoes, socks and shirt. When Hathaway returned, though, and looked him up and down with what he bloody well hoped was _not_ an appraising look, his hands self-consciously stopped over the last button of his shirt. Hastily, he grabbed his pyjamas and strode past Hathaway into the bathroom. Relieved, he locked the door behind him.

There was only one problem: He couldn't just stay in there the whole night. When he had taken his time to relieve himself and brush his teeth, and when he had washed himself more thoroughly than he typically did before he went to bed, there was nothing more to do to postpone the inevitable. He opened the door and carried the pile of his worn clothes like a shield in front of him, and then he saw Hathaway—sound asleep in the bed.

Lewis had to smile. Hathaway looked unusually peaceful. Maybe it wasn't so hard to just lie down beside him and get a good night's sleep. After all, he had always slept much better when he wasn't alone. He switched off the light, shuffled towards his side of the bed and slipped beneath the cover.

The moment he closed his eyes, however, it was clear that things weren't going to be that easy.


	3. Chapter 3

_(In which Lewis has a revelation and the case is solved as well.)_

Lewis admitted defeat at three in the morning. He had been woken up by Hathaway going to the bathroom, feeling like he had hardly been asleep to start with.

The whole night he had been tossing around in his bed, or better, trying not to toss around too much in order to not wake Hathaway. Whenever he heard the soft sound of Hathaway breathing or slightly snoring during his sleep, all he could do was thinking about him, how he lay only a few inches away and how easy it would be to just reach out and touch him. When he couldn't hear Hathaway's breath, he couldn't restrain himself from throwing glances to the other side of the bed, trying to make out the form of his sleeping body in the darkness. And whenever he finally managed to drift into slumber, he woke all too soon for fearing he might bump into Hathaway in his sleep.

Wearily, he sat up against the head of the bed and switched on the lamp on the bedside table. Things couldn't go on like this. When Hathaway returned from the bathroom, he said without introduction: "We need to talk."

Now that he had made up his mind about it, he wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible.

"Fine.", Hathaway said and sat down on the bed. "What about?"

"Us. This." He gestured vaguely at the space between them.

Hathaway looked at him for a few seconds, then he rolled his eyes. "I know you are uncomfortable with gay relationships..."

"It's not that, you know that." Lewis hastened to say. At least he hoped that Hathaway knew, sometimes he found it hard to tell whether Hathaway actually meant something or whether he was just teasing him.

"Then what?"

"It's just that with you..."

Lewis rubbed his face. It was hard enough to talk about feelings as it were, and it was even harder to talk about feelings you hadn't even dared to admit to yourself yet.

"Look," he started again, "this is not easy for an old fool like me, especially when I don't know if you..."

If you thought about it, though, which Lewis finally allowed himself to do, you might get the idea that his unspoken question had already been answered. Hathaway _had_ been quite flirtatious lately, only Lewis hadn't really got it then since he didn't expect, didn't _want_ to be on the receiving end. Feeling a lot better suddenly, he remarked: "On the other hand, if that kiss was anything to go by..."

"Well, you can hardly tell by just one kiss, now, can you?" Hathaway said, and his face was as deadpan as if he was talking about the weather instead.

Cold fish, Lewis was tempted to say, but if that kiss had taught him anything, then it was first-hand experience that Hathaway was anything else than a cold fish.

"I think I could bloody well tell," he mumbled, and then he blushed since he remembered all too vividly one particular part of Hathaway's anatomy pressing against him.

Hathaway's straight expression had vanished, his eyes grew big and dark with desire, and he subconsciously licked his lips. Lewis' own body demanded a repeat performance of that one night. He leaned in, and when Hathaway closed his eyes in anticipation, the devil in Lewis thought Hathaway deserved a bit of teasing. He stopped inches in front of Hathaway's face and said:

"But you are right, better check twice."

The effect was not exactly what he had had in mind since his voice was rough with desire. Hathaway made a nasal noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan in response, which directly went down to Lewis' groin. He forgot all thoughts about teasing and talking, and he eagerly captured Hathaway's mouth with his own.

Kissing Hathaway was much better than he remembered it to be, but given that he had tried his best _not_ to remember, it wasn't that much of a surprise. Leisurely, he tasted Hathaway's lips, this time making sure to absorb every sensation, every detail. Once he licked Hathaway's lower lip, Hathaway parted his lips obligingly, and their tongues met, and their bodies, too, and Hathaway's hands were in Lewis' hair.

When they finally broke apart, they had somehow shifted into a half-lying position, and Hathaway had managed to end up with his upper body sprawled across Lewis.

"We still need to talk." Lewis said reluctantly after he had recovered his breath, which was a bit difficult due to Hathaway's weight on his chest.

"I want you, you want me, what more is there to talk about?"

"It's not _that_ easy." Lewis said.

"Look," Hathaway explained patiently. "It's not that I'm rushing into this, or that you are forcing yourself upon me, if that's what you are concerned about."

Lewis nodded, not missing the irony that at the moment, in fact it was Hathaway lying on top of _him_.

"There's nothing you can say that I haven't already thought about." Hathaway continued. "Satisfied?"

"Not really." Lewis grumbled, although it was hard to stay focused when Hathaway was so close.

"Oh, but then I know exactly the thing to do."

Hathaway smiled smugly and let his hands roam across Lewis' chest, deliberately stroking his nipples through the loose fabric of Lewis' pyjamas. Lewis gasped. Hathaway's hands continued their journey down Lewis' sides, his hips, his legs, the friction of the fabric on his skin being strangely erotic.

Lewis would never have thought that being caressed with one's clothes still on could be so arousing, and he wondered how it would be if only he could feel bare skin. He slipped his hands under Hathaway's T-shirt, exploring his back, his shoulders, and finally pulling the offending piece of clothing over his head. Hathaway threw the shirt away carelessly, and Lewis looked him up and down from beneath, liking what he saw.

After all these years it was a bit odd, but he found Hathaway's flat and muscular chest quite attractive. Very attractive. He leaned up to place a kiss where the faintest of blond hair was growing, then worked his way to the side and captured one nipple with his lips. He was rewarded with a throaty moan, and he smiled, pleased with himself.

Suddenly, Hathaway was working on the buttons of Lewis' shirt, clumsy with haste, and his lips were on Lewis' chest, his nipples, his navel. Then Lewis felt the waistband of his pants being pulled down, and when his brain caught up with what was happening, he wanted to grab Hathaway's hands and stop him and ask him if he was really sure about this, but it was already too late. Hathaway's lips were already on him, licking him, teasing him, and moaning and gasping illegibly in response was all Lewis could do.

He was nearing the edge all too soon.

"Jim..." He warned, but Hathaway wouldn't stop, instead guiding him through the spasms of his orgasm with his mouth.

When he could finally breathe again, Lewis said: "I'm sorry, it's been a while."

Hathaway smiled.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Smug bastard." Lewis mumbled and pulled Hathaway into a kiss.

He could still taste himself on Hathaway's lips, and it wasn't too bad actually, maybe if he tried...?

He rolled Hathaway around and kissed his way downwards, delightfully noticing how Hathaway wriggled below him.

"You don't need to..." Hathaway gasped.

"But I want to." Lewis said.

He really did. He just hoped his enthusiasm would make up for lack of experience. It soon turned out that he didn't need to worry, for Hathaway seemed to be as desperate as Lewis had been. Or Lewis was a natural talent, but he ruled that one out, he really wasn't that full of himself.

* * *

Lewis woke by the sound of his mobile ringing. Still half asleep, he reached towards the bedside table and grabbed his phone.

"Lewis?" He said, trying not to sound as sleepy as he felt.

"It's Innocent."

"Ma'am."

Next to him, Hathaway rolled around, stretched, and shifted closer.

"Are you still in bed?" Innocent asked.

"The reception ended very late, Ma'am, and Hawkins said he would sleep in." Lewis defended himself.

Not to forget the little extra performance of last night... It was a good thing that Innocent couldn't see him, nor Hathaway grinning smugly, because he found the situation embarrassing enough as it was.

"Well, while you have been sleeping, your colleagues have made some progress," Innocent reported. "They found Milton Smith. His flat is a huge fan collection, so to speak; CDs, DVDs, posters, photographs, newspaper articles, clothes and the like. It is possible that he was the one who broke into Hawkins' flat."

"Interesting." Lewis said, now fully awake.

"Send Mr. Hawkins over to the station as soon as possible, Lewis, will you? Maybe he can identify some of his stolen goods."

"Will do."

"And stay at the Randolph. I want you two to maintain your cover as long as we know for sure that we have the right man."

"Yes, Ma'am."

When the connection broke, Lewis put his mobile aside and informed Hathaway of what Innocent had told him. Despite having had much too little sleep, he felt quite energetic and jumped out of bed. Or the equivalent that counted for jumping when you were an old man with a weak back who had had sex for the first time in years just a few hours ago.

When he disappeared into the bathroom, Hathaway called after him: "Don't I get a good morning kiss?"

Lewis stuck his head out of the bathroom door and said: "We have _work_ to do, Hathaway."

Although he had to admit he would very much like to give Hathaway a good morning kiss. Or more.

* * *

When they had safely escorted Hawkins to a taxi, Lewis said: "I need fresh air. Fancy a walk, Jim?"

Hathaway nodded. They walked for a while in companionable silence along the nearest streets, shoulders almost touching.

"I can't believe Smith is our man." Lewis remarked after a couples of minutes. "He didn't seem to have a plan. You know, he was just standing there, looking suspicious, giving away his real name..."

"You don't need to have a plan for killing people."

"But if the car thing was done in the heat of the moment, then who wrote the letters? They certainly sounded as if someone really meant to harm him. And why show up a second time?"

Hathaway lit a cigarette and took a drag.

"Maybe you are right," he said finally, exhaling a puff of smoke. "But we don't really know until the colleagues tell us more."

"I know." Lewis sighed, "And I hate having nothing to do than wait."

"Need a distraction?" Hathaway smiled.

"Yes, I..." Lewis started, but when he realised what Hathaway was implying, he quickly added: "No!"

But that might have got out the wrong way.

"I mean, I'm really flattered," he continued. "But it would be awful if Innocent called in the middle of..."

"Rumpey-pumpey?" Hathaway grinned.

"Yeah." Lewis said.

As if on cue, Hathaway's mobile rang. When Hathaway looked at the display, his grin widened, but by the time he put the phone to his ear his face was nearly straight. Hathaway was good at it, Lewis noticed, keeping a straight face.

"Hathaway." He spoke into the phone, voice level.

"..."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"..."

"OK."

"..."

"Yes, he is."

"..."

"I will do that, Ma'am."

Hathaway put the mobile away and took another pull.

"What did she say?" Lewis asked.

"Smith was the one who broke into Hawkins' house. Hawkins recognised his possessions, and they could finally identify some fingerprints."

"Ah." Lewis said.

"He has no alibi either, and when the colleagues confronted him with that, he admitted everything. He has, however, an alibi for the car incident."

Lewis nodded while Hathaway continued.

"He seems to be an over-possessive fan, has a huge collection of everything concerning Dean Hawkins. As far as we know, he could be totally harmless, maybe just a bit oblivious about property and privacy."

"Yeah, that figures." Lewis said. "So we are looking for another person?"

"Looks like that, yes."

Which meant they had to stay at the Randolph, but Lewis didn't find that thought as annoying anymore as he had in the beginning.

"And," Hathaway added. "I am to tell you to keep your phone with you."

"Damn!" Lewis cursed, searching through his pockets. "I think I left it at our room..."

* * *

They went back to the hotel in order to get Lewis' phone. When they passed the hallway leading to Hawkins' room on their way back, Lewis noticed an unfamiliar figure in front of the door. He nudged Hathaway with his elbow and pointed to what he had seen. Hathaway raised his eyebrows and pulled his mouth into a clueless expression. From the distance, the only thing Lewis could make out was that the person seemed to be holding something in his or her arm.

Lewis turned around and whispered into Hathaway's ear: "Staff?"

Hathaway shook his head doubtfully. Lewis looked at him, trying to figure out whether they were thinking of the same thing. Somehow they were, since they nodded in unison and started to tiptoe down the hall.

It turned out that the person was in fact a man clad in informal clothes, holding a parcel. And wasn't he manipulating the door? Lewis wasn't sure.

"Excuse me?" Lewis said when they were so close that the man was about to notice them every second.

The man jumped. He stared at them for a split second, then turned around and fled. Hathaway started after him. Lewis took out his mobile, glad he had it with him now that it mattered, and phoned the station before he followed.

Hathaway and the other man had already disappeared around a corner, and now Lewis heard the sound of an explosion, then muffled rumbling and suppressed moans. Worried about Hathaway, Lewis sped around the corner, getting caught in a puff of smoke which bit his eyes and made him cough. Protecting his mouth and eyes with his hands, he stumbled forwards until he could finally see again.

Then he found Hathaway. He was down on the floor, wrestling with the other man. Before Lewis reached him to help, though, he was already using his long limbs to his advantage, finally being able to hold his opponent down with a shoulder lock.

Relieved, Lewis noticed that he seemed to be unhurt. Hathaway looked up to him from below.

"So where are your handcuffs when you need them?"

"Why, are you finally realising we could use them?"

"I never doubted that." Hathaway grinned.

Lewis didn't know whether Hathaway was getting more cheeky lately of if he was having a bad influence on Lewis so that he was getting more aware of double meanings. However, he threw Hathaway a look that he hoped made clear that he found his remark inappropriate, being on duty and all. It might have not come across the way he intended it to, though, since beside being annoyed with himself, Lewis also had to admit he wouldn't want to have Hathaway any other way.

* * *

"So, Mr. Simon." Lewis said as Hathaway closed the door to the interrogation room. "This parcel of yours, the one that exploded and ruined the carpet at the Randolph—it was meant for Dean Hawkins?"

Simon nodded. Since the moment Hathaway had got the better of him after he had tried to flee, he had resigned and let himself be transported to the station without any further tries of getting away, lethargically submitting to the routine police procedures.

"And the motorcycle, was that you as well?"

At this point, Simon hesitated.

"If that was your motorcycle, once we know the license plate number and what it looks like, it might be easier for us to find witnesses remembering things."

"It was me." Simon said.

Lewis was relieved that, for once, things seemed to go straight forward.

"Why?"

"Because Hawkins is a fag." Simon practically spat out the last word.

Lewis and Hathaway looked at each other, eyebrows raised. This was definitely not an answer either of them had expected.

"Well?" Lewis pushed. "As far as I know, homosexuality is not a crime."

"But he was going to be Britain's voice!"

When Lewis and Hathaway stared at him blankly, he added: "In the Eurovision song contest!"

For the first time since their little chase at the Randolph, Simon showed some sort of involvement. "I can't let the vision of that contest be ruined by those fags."

"Fighting against gays at the Eurovision song contest?" Lewis mumbled. "Isn't that... I don't know, like tilting at windmills?"

Simon glared at Lewis and set his jaw, but stayed silent.

"But Hawkins isn't gay." Hathaway said.

Simon turned his head to look at him.

"He is, as you might have noticed, married and father of two." Hathaway continued.

Simon gave a bitter laugh. "Hypocrite. That's even worse, playacting the perfect family life. And to think of the wife, the poor children! But I know the likes of him. Would notice a fag everywhere."

"Would you indeed." Hathaway said dryly.

Lewis had the feeling that this conversation wouldn't lead to any more useful insights, so he asked Simon: "Is there's anything else you want to say?"

The man just shook his head. Lewis looked at Hathaway and nodded towards the door. "I think I'm done here."

Once outside of the interrogation room, Lewis said to Hathaway: "I don't get it. Why are people so obsessed with celebrities?"

Hathaway shrugged. "To each his obsessions."

"Yeah. But I don't run around trying to kill people."

* * *

In Innocent's office, Hawkins was sitting in front of the desk, drinking a cup of coffee. When Lewis and Hathaway entered, he stood up.

"I have to thank you," he said and shook Lewis' hand. "Inspector Lewis?"

Lewis nodded. It seemed he and Innocent had had a little talk.

"Sergeant Hathaway?" He shook Hathaway's hand as well. "Thanks a lot.—Thank you, Ma'am.", he said in Innocent's direction. "If I'm not needed anymore, I will go back to the Randolph."

"Of course, Mr. Hawkins," she said, and Lewis couldn't help but think she was just a little bit smitten with him.

"Not you, too, Ma'am..." He moaned as soon as Hawkins was out of earshot. Hathaway at his side coughed discreetly.

"I beg your pardon?" Asked Innocent.

Lewis shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, but I've met too many people recently who were just a little bit too obsessed with him."

"I will ignore that, Lewis," she said pointedly. "But Mr. Hawkins is right—that was good work, from both of you."

Then she leaned over the desk and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "And it has come to my ears that you two were very dedicated to playing your role believably."

Lewis jaw dropped open, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see how Hathaway tried to keep his composure. Lewis couldn't remember ever having seen Innocent look smug, but it seemed there was a first time for everything, because at this moment she was bestowing them with the smuggest smile he had ever seen.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a silly afterthought.

_(In which the author has some fun with screencaps.)_

  
  



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